


If—

by Cyrelia_J



Series: One for A Hundred [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Intersex Parmak, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: Kelas Parmak backstory.An orphan from Nokar petitions the courts to study medicine after his family and village are ravaged by plague. The Administrators have a few concerns, and then he meets Doctor Vakem Parmak.“Perhaps you may live to see that world where I do not. As it stands now men like Procal Dukat, like Legate Sincara, are still men that men like you and I do not say no to. And should that time ever come I want you to be ready to survive. I want you to outlive them all.”Minor hinted Garak/Parmak at the end and the infamous "his eyes" incident succinctly. A slightly darker take on the character.





	If—

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GulJeri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/gifts).



> So I decided to expand on Parmak’s original backstory drabble (as can be found in the Tumblr post “Kelas”). So this is his bit of twisted history for all my non au stories he’s featured in though right now it’s limited to Invictus and Inside a Dream. (Which will appear here when they're finished or further along). The title is inspired by Kipling’s “If” which reminds me of Parmak.
> 
> Also, if you haven't already I totally want to pimp GulJeri's "A Rare Rain” on this site which is another fantastic take on Parmak’s possible past. It’s a wip but totally worth a read regardless.
> 
> Edited to add 5/26. I'm calling this version of Parmak C132 (bit of a R&M tribute with the designation) and for those curious, you can read more on that iteration on my tumblr at https://cyrelia-j.tumblr.com/post/174224671218/a-tale-of-two-parmaks-or-the-big-write-up-on-my

They tell him that he needs to take the beads out of his hair. "They", are the administrators who run the main placement facility out of Central He’s explained to them calmly that the beads are a necessity. He painstakingly points out who each bead is for. The black onyx is for his father. The rose quartz for his mother. The remainder are for everyone buried in his village. There are none for any siblings: sixty five in total. He was one of the few solo children; a conscious choice after he’d been born “corrupted”. His mother had never approved of the term but it was accurate. His spine was bent, his eyesight weak on their scans, his eyes were far too pale with a pinkish cast, his skin with a tint of pale lilac instead of pure gray, and his hair was white. They had therefore named him “Kelasar” which in the Nokaran dialect meant “the lesser thought of”. They were correct; his existence required little thought.

 

_“You are representing yourself today in this hearing.”_

_“Yes. I am of age that I require no counsel.”_

_“Our records indicate you are not of age.”_

_“That is incorrect. Per the Registry Bylaws of the Joint Continents of Kranuss and Nokar the age is fourteen.”_

_“Eheen and Elar do not recognize Northern Law in its courts.”_

_“That is incorrect. The Continental law of the petitioner has priority in Registry related cases.”_

_“…The State considers your request and approves. Identify yourself for the records today.”_

_“My name is Kelasar Math’anzatar. Ah, my apologies, in the south you would say Kelas Mat’anzat. I am a male from point fifty one hundred on the Nokar continent. I am fifteen.”_

_“You are requesting custody from The State.”_

_“Mm, no, that is incorrect. I had requested to remain. I was told that I was a carrier of Yarim Fei. That is also incorrect. I had requested to instead be relocated to a placement facility out of Drav. I was told that I am a person of interest. That is also incorrect. There is nothing interesting about me, may it serve The State…”_

 

He smiles at that. He is the only survivor of the plague. He buried everyone in the village himself.

 

The doctors from the Public Health Bureau told him upon examination that he was a carrier of Yarim Fei Syndrome; that was why he hadn’t fallen ill. He told them quite calmly that he’d studied the symptoms, and while that was his initial thought as well it was incorrect as the symptoms were unable to be mitigated in the slightest by their usual treatments or even hexadrine therapy. He also said that the Nokaran genome had an unusual resistance to the Syndrome and that it was a Southerner’s illness so their theories were incorrect. It took specialists at the Health Ministry six months to corroborate his findings. They wouldn’t allow him to assist. 

Kelas waited patiently in the room they’d given him under quarantine, reading, studying, knowing they would find what he’d already figured out once he had access to their PADDs and research. It was a mutation of the original syndrome with an airborne delivery which had been accidentally transmitted from one of the survey teams from the Science Ministry while taking the wild stag census. He asked once they’d been made aware of their error and designated the new strain Yarinja Syndrome if he might return then to Nokar- to Drav. He’d been taught enough skills as an apprentice doctor and said that he didn’t see why he couldn’t be placed suitably at home. They said the benevolent State would grant him that small indulgence if he asked to be placed into custody. They only allowed him to petition to study on the capitol continent; they refused to allow him to return home.

 

_“You are requesting custody from The State.”_

_“I am requesting to be trained at Central or Lacoria City to further my education in the field of contagious diseases and pathogens.”_

_“You are requesting custody from The State.”_

_“That is incorrect. I want to be a doctor. I was told that this is the only way that is possible.”_

_“We have found there are discrepancies in your identity.”_

_“That is incorrect. There are none.”_

_“You are an X210 on the Ba’zan Spectrum. You are refusing to identify as a nonconforming code.”_

_“That is because I am a man. Both programs at Central and Lacoria City accept men.”_

_“Per Eheen Identity Code Forty One, citizens identifying as male are not permitted hair longer than two centimeters past the first thoracic ridge.”_

_“That is incorrect. The third revision law of Identity Code Forty Two states that “corrupted abberants with affected cranial follicle growth shall be exempted from naming and follicular requirements” in Code Forty One.”_

_“That section was written in reference to genetic disorders causing loss of follicles not discoloration.”_

_“Respectfully, Archon Darz has declared the precedent in The State’s ruling against Procal Gantek that the intent of The State belongs to The State and the words of the law belong to the courts.”_

_“…The State grants your exemption. However you have also declined the recommended surgeries to properly align your sex and your gender. You cannot identify as male without the surgeries.”_

_“Zat is incyarrect! Ah… that is… respectfully… as I am, I am already a man, may it please The State. I am not required the surgeries per any identity laws.“_

_“…The State considers your requests and affirms the male identity. However it is our strong recommendation that should you choose to pursue the medical field that for the Benevolence of The State you elect to identify as female or one of non conforming codes x through z per your dress and presentation and properly identify yourself as Kelar.”_

_“Respectfully again, I decline.”_

_“Then it is our ruling that The State will not extend its benevolence beyond your necessities. Our custody is granted. Our beloved son of Cardassia is free to pursue sponsorship or other avenues of admittance. The State shall in its wisdom decline the folly of our foolish son. This hearing is adjourned.”_

 

Kelas had inclined his head respectfully, hands behind his back and laughed silently.

 

Galana, likes to hide his spectacles. She is the one assigned to his case in the matter of his future employment and prospective sponsorship. In the year since the hearing he has resided in the small room of the Central Placement Center and has never had an offer of sponsorship or placement. He’s always shrugged it off, reading each letter of rejection out loud with a soft laugh. Galana is frequently cross with his flippant attitude. She’s quite fond of that word flippant, reminding him that an orphan -particularly from the North- has little prospects especially given his age and inappropriate presentation, and should show proper gratitude to The State for seeing to his needs and for graciously accepting the burden he puts upon it. He had laughed quite loudly the first time that she had said it and suggested that The State perhaps might have considered that when it allowed his village to perish down to him before deigning to send even the most pithy of envoys. He had laughed, in fact, until she cursed his existence and left the room. 

His mother had taught him that it was a far better reaction to smile or to laugh when upset- that the mind could be eased, convinced into calm with that little trick. She was correct in that. Smiling puts him at ease and calms his mind. He’s always smiled when hurt, when upset, when… devastated. It’s a far better release than tears. Kelas is smiling today, sitting in the bright waiting room, eyes closed, breathing slowly in meditation. He has a prospective sponsor according to Galana. She had told him that the man meeting with him today is a doctor by the name of Vakem Parmak. He had read about the story of the infection as it had appeared, read the publications that the Science Academy had released for academic consumption, and was intrigued by the young man mentioned in the footnotes. Galana was certain to remind him how fortunate that it is for him to have this opportunity. He merely shrugged and supposed that if was the will of the State then things will play out as they should.

Galana hid his spectacles before the meeting, saying that any sign of infirmary would be frowned upon. He’d laughed at that and asked if they hadn’t noticed his hair or his back, or perhaps the slightly off purple of his skin and scales when reviewing his profile. She once agin made disparaging remarks on his flippancy and attitude. He feels her slap his face now, telling him that he needs to appear alert, with his eyes open and attentive. He reminds her that the spectacles don’t just correct his myopia but his nystagmatism and that it’s difficult to focus properly without them. 

She has little pity; he’d refused any procedure to correct that “defect” as well. Kelas had stated quite firmly that it wasn’t a defect, it was merely a property of his person, and that if The State in its benevolence can properly respect such things than she ought to as well. He hears her saying more to herself then him that he should be so thankful that anyone should take interest in him at his age with his “impairments” when it will prove difficult to integrate. Kelas - family name now redacted from the registry - finally opens his eyes and looks at her with a few slow blinks. She tells him that steady expression makes him look simple. He laughs when she says it, as if it’s a joke. She tells him that he should stop laughing at things that aren’t funny and chastises him for not having cleaned up his accent.

 

He likes that they hate his smile and his laughing.

 

When Doctor Parmak enters he’s an old man with hair white as Kelas’. He walks with a stoop and a slow shuffle as well though Kelas imagines that’s the result of age. Kelas stands to greet him, not able to make proper eye contact without his spectacles. He offers an apology but the old doctor waves him off. 

“I thank you for understanding. They ah told me that you were once one of the foremost researchers into viral infections and mutations. That was my area of fascination. That’s what I had hoped to study though I’m sure you’re familiar with that write up. They would have handed one out. If you hadn’t received one you should ask Galana and if you had received it but hadn’t read it you should.” He blinks a few times. Doctor Parmak blinks back he thinks but it’s hard to tell sometimes when his eyes are bad.

“I didn’t and I won’t. What I need to know I’m not going divine from their meaningless profile. I can read the records easily enough. I need a good mind, I need a steady body, and a dedicated son. I have a name and I’m willing to teach you. But I’ll tell you now if you’re looking to play God and save the sick and suffering you’re likely to see more death than miracles.” Kelas laughs at that.

“Mmm, well, you can see my body,” He spreads his arms, giving the old doctor a look. At sixteen they allow him to dress himself. Galana may hide his glasses but she’s not always able to find his clothes. The Southern continents are warm, and Kelas has enjoyed having bare arms and feeling the sun on his skin. He’s wearing a high neck black tunic that he’s carefully cut and sewn the sleeves off of. It fits his slim body closely and shows his hips and softness as well over the loose trousers. There’s no hiding the round of his back or his eyes or his discolored skin. Galana says its obscene. He loves it. “Ah, but you’ve seen the pictures beside. I might not appear able but I promise you I am. I can’t speak to my mind. Mm, I don’t find I ever have much to offer in the way of conversation. That’s in the profile too. Verbatim if I recall so I saved you having to learn it. As for the rest well… I would say that a loyal son would stay and bury all the dead of his family as they passed. Which I did; they didn’t publish that in their articles.”

 

Every few days he spent hours burying another body.

 

Doctor Parmak looks at him carefully as he takes a seat opposite in the small room.

“I know what my eyes see. I know what I read in the case files and what they likely omitted; I know how they operate. Why don’t you sit down and tell me then what had happened.” Kelas nods, taking a seat again.

“I ah, apologize in advance. I may need to shut my eyes for this, not for any particular emotion. That would be unnecessary but it’s easier for other reasons is all. I seem to have misplaced my spectacles which help correct my vision.” He’s looking away, breathing out, not trying to force his eyes to a focus. It never helps. Still, he catches a motion out of he corner of his eye and finds Doctor Parmak handing him his glasses. 

“Here. I won’t have you staring at me like a nearsighted taspar.” Kelas smiles.

“All taspars are nearsighted, sir. Ah, but most people don’t know that being they’re rather keen hunters. Their eyes are still quite sharp when it comes to tracking movement if one can believe that. Mmm... right, they said not to offer corrections to misinformation but I don’t see how we combat ignorance otherwise. That’s what my mother would say at least.”

“Good,” Doctor Parmak replies emphatically. “And don’t you forget it.” Kelas puts his spectacles back on with a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. It’s much easier now.” He takes a breath supposing that it’s easier to start at the beginning. He starts by letting the doctor know that he isn’t sure what the journals had chronicled but he isn’t a carrier. Both he and the doctors at the Public Health Bureau concluded that he’d never been ill or carried the bacteria in his body at all. The chromosomal mutations which gave him his “corruptions” had resulted in a lack of the proper protein to properly sustain the mutated organism.

 

Kelas laughs softly as he points out the irony.

 

He had understood their thought at first though. It had started with his family - with his father to be exact - which had caused the rest of the village to believe he was the source of it when he didn’t get ill himself. One by one they had all fallen to that sickness with the same shooting pains and muscle failure. They all contracted the fevers and by the end he was the only one unaffected. They had started at first by caring for the afflicted in their own homes, the insulated tents having been put down for the spring. His mother had begun mixing the usual herbs and resorting to some of the coveted antibiotics kept on hand in small stock. Those however, had proved ineffective and after the first few deaths they had begun running transmissions to the Public Health Bureau at Central through Drav. When that failed to yield results they escalated their concerns to both the Health and Science Ministries.

They received little back but a few more suggestions for antibiotic compounds and requests for samples. Both he and his mother had scoffed at that notion though by then she wasn’t able to get out of bed. The donors of the samples were likely to be long dead by the time they were received but they sent them anyway and waited. Kelas wasn’t particularly optimistic so he began his own experimentations in earnest under his mother’s guidance. She didn’t last more than two months and she died as he held her hand. He was sure to keep his face calm and happy for her. He nearly found himself in tears having to put her into the ground but he couldn’t let himself slip like that. Instead he forced that smile to remain on his face and continued working. 

He kept the smile up as they left him one by one telling him that he’d brought this all upon them. Kelas apologized softly to every one of them, not understanding why it was that he hadn’t fallen ill. He didn’t believe that his white hair had marked him as some sort of bringer of death or demon. That sort of thing, his mother had said was the ignorance of the superstitious Kranessans. By the end he had built a makeshift ward on his own as he brought the afflicted water and food and continued mixing together the different herbs that his mother had taught him to try and find a cure. The equipment was old, and he’d only had her second hand knowledge and rudimentary training to work with but he tried.  By the end it was incredibly simple to smile and be numb.

He sent his own communications for assistance to the Science and Health Ministries, to the Public Health Bureau, to the Northern Consulate. The responses remained the same; they were a low priority on the Steppe. So he continued to work silently, keeping the smile on his face. He tried to save them all but in the end he had failed. He lived alone then, amidst the ruins, reading, carefully packing up belonging and leaving monuments to the dead. The village was a living tomb that he tended to daily with a soft unhurried him when the officials from the Public Health Bureau had finally come. Which brought them full circle so he recounted the year and a half he’d been in Central and the ultimate findings of the doctors when they finally deigned to research the matter. Kelas himself by that point had begun working on a vaccination once he had access to the data and computers there. They dismissed and erased his work. He just had to shake his head and laugh at such foolishness. He had it memorized. He would continue.

 

He nearly jumps when he realizes that Doctor Parmak’s hand is on his shoulder.

 

“You didn’t mourn them,” he says. Kelas looks at him blankly.

“That is not correct. I think of them every day in a meditation.” There’s an inscrutable look there.

“Do you have nightmares?”

“No, Mm I remember that Petark writing on dreams and The State believed that nightmares are the product of ah… a disquieted mind. My mind is a calm white desert that stretches out endlessly.”

“I’m sure they told you that you can’t keep dressing like that or looking like that if you’re going to remain in the South continents.

“They had, and respectfully sir, here I am. As I had said at the hearing. You can read the transcripts though I don’t think you will. My name is Kelas. I’m sixteen years of age and I’m male. The records will show X210, a split sterile breeder. I don’t believe that my hair, my accent, my manner of dress, or any other physiological matters have any bearing on my ability to serve the Cardassian State. I think that our beloved State may even enjoy a little color here and there and if it’s all the same to you, I shall not respectfully change. But I  _will_  become a doctor.” He stands and inclines his head, drawing himself up as best as he can. He sees Doctor Parmak look at him again a moment before patting himself on the thigh twice then standing. 

“Well then, welcome to the family, I suppose. Get your things and don’t be late.” He smacks the side of Kelas’ face lightly and holds it there, looking him in the eyes steadily. “I don’t know that you’ll have the best life, but it will be a life for you to make of it what you will. You're a survivor - fitting for the last generation of Parmak. And I assure you that you’ll survive it. No matter what happens.” Kelas doesn’t quite understand but Doctor Parmak merely says that he will in time.

 

And then time passes.

 

Kelas is a quick study, and he’s relentless in his quest for knowledge and perfection. He’s adopted as Doctor Parmak’s own son, and after five years carefully stows the majority of the beads in a sealed box. He wears two for his parents respectfully and his hair grows down to the small of his back loosely plaited. He doesn’t grow much taller, his ridges don’t define quite as deeply as they might but he’s still as strong as any other Northerner when the need arises. He’s accepted into the Medical Academy at Central and pursues his studies into not just communicable diseases and pathology, but pharmacology and chemistry as well at Doctor Parmak’s suggestion. He too, becomes Doctor Parmak when he graduates top of his class. The old doctor is pleased, and tells him all he needs to do now is continue his work at the hospital and wait. Kelas still isn’t certain what it is that he’s being groomed for but he waits, foregoing any outside distractions and pursuing his studies with an obsession that borders on mania. 

Doctor Parmak had told him once in the course of his studies that there would come a time when it would be necessary for him to be able to withstand any amount of physical torture inflicted on him if his talents were to lead him where he thought they may. His talents had begun to manifest in a chemical brilliance, formulations coming to him almost in a trance. He worked in secret then to enhance those natural mental gifts as well.

“I don’t have any doubts about your mental fortitude,” Doctor Parmak had said as they sat in the parlor drinking warm tea, “but you don’t have the advantages of some others.” Kelas had laughed at that.

“Well, I should think that would be obvious sir. Ah, but my skill in my studies must have caused you to slip in that assessment.”

“You wear arrogance about as well as those formal suits they tried to throw you in,” Doctor Parmak answered wryly. Kelas smiled at him. “But I want you to listen carefully to me now. I expect you’ll do well enough in life and if you never amount to more than some resident doctor writing papers I suppose I could have done worse. But there are other opportunities for doctors seeking to serve the State, especially with your gifts. Don't think I don't know the reputation you've built for yourself. You have to know that when you get too high, it'll draw attention. You're aware there are opportunities for “private” physicians serving powerful clients spoken of amongst your colleagues justas your aware that they hardly call upon those with your skills to treat their family ailments. Still, most would consider them coveted positions.”

“I’ve heard of them but what does this have to do with me?”

“Your feigning ignorance is disingenuous like it always is. You're a terrible liar, always have been. If you were to be called upon Kelas, in the employ of a man as say, Procal Dukat, what would you say?” Kelas snorted at that.

“You should know but now that I would have to respectfully decline. He and I do not share State sentiments.”

“You would at that,” Doctor Parmak said fondly. “Men like us, Kelas, we don’t survive long in this world. That is what this long life has taught me. The game, my boy, is survival. Nothing more, nothing less. Our beloved mother State has thrown her children to this pit of snakes to let the strongest rise. As doctors, we’re tasked with giving everyone an equal opportunity to rise, to win that survival game. And you know what that means? It means that we before any others have to survive at all costs.”

“I’ve always believed our  _true_  State is our nurturing mother State who loves and protects all of her children. I’ve also always believed that the State does not hold any lives above another in truth.”

“Perhaps you may live to see that world where I do not. As it stands now men like Procal Dukat, like Legate Sincara, are still men that men like you and I do not say no to. And should that time ever come I want you to be ready to survive. I want you to outlive them all.” He touched the side of Kelas’ face gently. “My ridiculous, beautiful son.”

“I shouldn’t be concerned so much with such a thing myself but… if that is your wish then whatever you need me to do, I will do… father.” He made the agreement softly though no less in earnest.

“You’re not going to thank me, Kelas.”

“Mmm, this is why you should have read the report sir when you accepted me. Then you would know that I’m exceptionally ungrateful.”

 

Doctor Parmak teaches him pain. Kelas learns to love it.

 

Doctor Parmak tells him stories that he might have deemed fanciful were it not for the scars adorning the old man’s body when he removes his tunic. His chest, his abdomen back, ridges are all a roadmap of torture. He’s seen them before but this is the first time he’s told the stories. Doctor Parmak tells him that he once spent time in one of the work camps for the dissidents. He then says that it was a vacation compared to the years spend under the employ of his master. He refuses to name the master and out of respect Kelas chooses not to look into it himself. Doctor Parmak says “master” the way an indentured servant would. He tells Kelas that those prestigious doctors working for high profile clients in exclusivity are little better than gilded pets, another symbol of status. He tells him that some of them work for the Central Command, some for the Military and a rare few for the Obsidian Order. Kelas has heard little of the Order save what every decent Cardassian Citizen knows.

Doctor Parmak says those in the Order are not brutal employers but they’re the ones that he needs to be the most wary of. They’re the ones who will break him if he shows any signs of weakness. But they’re also the ones who will provide the most opportunity, the most freedom for his research and work should he dare enter into that world. Doctor Parmak says that he’ll train any remaining weakness out of him, that he’ll train him how to survive; his political sympathies little known as they are will make him a target. But that doesn’t matter if he’s unbreakable. Kelas isn’t so sure that he understands, that any of this is necessary, but he agrees. And that’s when Doctor Parmak begins the pain therapy.

It is said in hushed whispers - amongst those doctors bold enough to speculate and those bolder still to share their coveted knowledge before tongues are cut out - that those in the Obsidian Order are immune to torture. Some say that they possess drugs, implants, that shut off their pain receptors, that turn pain into pleasure. Doctor Parmak has none of those things but he has drugs that heighten sensation, that take the softest touch and make it painful. He has electrodes and knowledge of the nervous system. And somewhere he’d acquired a pain stick. Kelas never asks where. Day by day, he and Kelas work, starting small, a few electric shocks here and there, a few pinpricks, and that pain stick which is the key to torture without injury. And every day it grows more intense, more agonizing until he learns not to scream when it grows unbearable. He learns to bite back anguish when the pain simulates burns, bones breaking, skin flaying, scales being pulled off day after day after month, after year, never a single mark on his body from it, his heart pumping out adrenaline, that state of heightened anxiety becoming like its own addictive drug.

 

One day he learns to start laughing.

Then he learns to beg for it.

 

His mind draws the attention of the prestigious Pharmacological Research Board in Central.

His work draws the attention of Enabran Tain.

His body draws the attention of Elim Garak.

 

Kelas loves it.

He laughs when they call him Tain’s pet doctor.

He finally develops a vaccine for the advanced Yarinja Syndrome and begins working on one for Yarim Fei proper.

He makes a lot of enemies.

He doesn’t care. He’s unbreakable.

 

He tells Garak how desperately he craves the pain and how high it makes him.

Garak tells him that pain is nothing compared to the drug that is fear.

Kelas smiles.

He’s not afraid of anything.

 

They trap him.

He lets them.

_Every one of their operatives tortured him until his body nearly failed. None of them cracked that smile._

Garak is the last.

_“Look at me, my dear…”_

Kelas has never looked Elim Garak in the eyes.

_“If I look at you, will that be the end of this, Elim?”_

Kelas smiles.

_“You have my word.”_

Garak smiles back.

_“Ah, if you insist then I-”_

And Kelas remembers why he looked away from Garak that first day.

_“No…”_

Garak’s eyes are the eyes of the dead. 

_“Is something the matter, dear Kelas?”_

Kelas stops laughing.

_“Get away from me…”_

They’re coming for him.

_“A pity, I thought you’d be more of a challenge.”_

The dead are-

_“Stay back! Stay back don’t touch me I’m not sick!”_

And he breaks.

_“I knew your fear would be the sweetest of all.”_

Kelas screams.


End file.
